Unsaid
by maybemarky
Summary: "All the things you've said, and all the things you haven't, have led you here; ever since she first walked into the bullpen, your life, your heart you've been leading up to this moment." Set at the end of 13x13, JJ contemplates the what-ifs and if-onlys of the past eleven years.


Author's Note: Almost all of the dialogue is borrowed from the television show, so I can't take credit for that. The 'unsaid' stuff is mine. Very general spoilers up through 13x13. Thanks for reading!

* * *

It's late, the bullpen empty, everyone else long gone when she comes to find you. You knew she would. Somewhere deep down inside, you know this is what you've been waiting for.

"I know there are parts of this job that you really can't take home, so if you ever want someone to talk to, know that I am always here for you," Emily says.

You smile, knowing that it doesn't reach your eyes. "Thanks," you respond.

 _Wait,_ the voice inside you speaks up. _I need you. I love you. I think I always have._

It isn't anything new, the words left unsaid. You look back out the window into the dark night, the reflection of a woman you're not even sure you know anymore staring back at you. You blink, and suddenly the eyes gazing back at you are brighter, more hopeful, eleven years younger and still so eager to find the good in the world. Eyes belonging to a woman – a girl, really – who stands in a small, dirty bathroom on what is, at that point, one of the top-three worst days of your life. And, like always, Emily is there. "I'm talking tomorrow morning to some guy who knew Hankel from Narcotics Anonymous," she says. "Why don't you come with me? Get out of the house."

"Yeah," you agree, aloud.

And that's when it starts, the voice in your head. _Thank you. Nobody else sees me. I don't know how to do this right now._

You blink again and it's a decade ago, the eyes staring back more sad, more jaded. The list of the worst days of your life is growing longer all the time and this day – this night – in the cold, sterile hallway of a hospital waiting area, she is there again. If you had to pinpoint when things changed, when you changed, you think it might be here. Your best friend is lying open on an operating table but all of a sudden it's a different friend you need. This time, there are no words. Emily touches your wrist and you turn your hand, grasping hers, allowing the connection.

 _I'm scared,_ you don't say. _I'm glad you're here with me. Please don't let go._

Your eyes flick to the side as Emily touches you now, in the present, a light brush of your elbow reminding you that she's here, and then you're back in the past, another time when she stood beside you. It doesn't seem like such a bad day in the moment, that doesn't become apparent until well after the fact. It's sweltering, the humidity so high you can taste the air. But your mouth is dry, and you don't know if you're just craving water or if you're craving something else. "You should go for him," Emily says. "You'd make a cute couple."

"You know what?" you respond. And you take her advice.

 _What about us?_ is what you think. _I can't have made this all up. Why are you pushing me away?_

You blink again, and it's soon after, much too soon. It's a good day, in the grand scheme, even if you feel completely terrified in the moment. Another city, another hotel, and you miss your own bed but it's okay because you always feel like you're at home when you're with her, and she's there. She's there, and then he's there. You speak first this time: "I'm pregnant."

"Oh my god, JJ! Congratulations!" Emily smiles, a little too wide. Her arm burns your body as it wraps around you.

 _I never meant for this to happen. Please don't fake it. I don't deserve even that._

Emily releases your elbow and turns to go, and suddenly two more years have passed. It's evening on a busy street and you're walking together, coffee in hand, just a little too close and yet not close enough. You don't even know why you're pushing her, except maybe you do. Maybe you want this to be a best day. You feel hope spark in your chest for the first time in a long while when she starts to dispute. "Mick Rawson is an arrogant, over-sexed, egotistical – "

"Hot, British dude with a sexy accent, badge, and gun," you finish aloud, cursing your own words even as they continue to fall out of your mouth. "Just your type."

 _I know I'm the one who messed this up, but I need you to fix it,_ you continue silently. _Please make the first move. Tell me I'm wrong, tell me your real type, tell me it's me._

You turn to watch her retreat down the hall and then you're back in the past, back to one of those worst-ever days, a different time she walked away from you. You're outside on a dark evening again, but this time it's a bustling street corner in a beautiful city, half a world away. It's the City of Love, and it's so damn ironic that you'd end up here with her, finally, when she's officially dead and you feel like you might as well be too. "Passports from three different countries and a bank account in each one to keep you comfortable," is what you say. "Good luck."

 _I will miss you. I will never forget you_. _I will always wonder what could have been_ is what you don't.

You're looking back out the window, and the reflection staring back at you is older now, different. Emily may have been gone only seven months, yet you lived so many lifetimes in that period it feels like much longer. But despite all of that it's a good day, truly, one of the best. It's a second chance and if there's one thing you've learned it's that life doesn't always give second chances and you shouldn't let it go to waste. "Thank you," Emily says, sincerely.

"It is really good to see you," you respond, and you really mean what you say. You wrap your arms around each other and hope that she doesn't feel the electricity running through you, except you also hope that she does.

It may be a start, but it's not enough. You still leave too much unsaid. _I'm going to fight for you this time. I need you. Don't go away again._

You watch as the eyes staring back at you age a little more, grow a little sadder, more scared, and it's another one of those good-at-the-time-but-oh-so-wrong days. It hasn't even been that long since you made yourself those promises but they're already broken, so far gone you don't even know how to begin to try to get back on track. You look beautiful, wearing your mother's dress, but you never realized before how ugly you feel on the inside. Emily's eyes do the speaking, this time, and you hear her loud and clear even though your own eyes are supposed to be on him: There's nothing left for me here, I have to go. I'm sorry I can't be what you need.

You're not even sure what your eyes say in response. You hope it's something along the lines of _Don't let me be the reason you leave. I feel like I don't have a choice. I wish it could be you instead._

Another blink and it's the worst kind of worst day, the kind of day that blows all the other bad days out of the water. You're cold and you're wet and you're sore, lying on a concrete floor probably underground somewhere, not sure you're ever going to see your son, or your husband, or her again. But then she's there, like she's always there, and you aren't even sure if it's for real or another trauma-induced hallucination. Maybe that's why, for once, you inner voice matches what you say aloud. "Emily. I knew they'd call you. I knew it."

It's not until later, after she's literally saved your life, that you're back to your old tricks. "No more lies," you promise. "Nothing but the truth from now on."

 _I'm lying now. You mean so much to me. I don't know how to tell you._

Now it's just two years ago and it's getting easier and easier to reconcile the woman you see reflected back at you with who you are now. This time, it's not one of your worst days, but hers, and you try not to delight in seeing her again because you know it's not a good thing that brought you together. You can tell she's struggling, you're so tuned in to her, and you try not to take too much pleasure in the way her arms feel under your fingers as you shake her awake from her dream - no, nightmare. "JJ was in it this time," Emily explains.

You don't say anything for a minute because, despite all the practice you have saying everything but what you mean, you're not sure you can compose a response that wouldn't be terribly insensitive given the situation.

 _You dream about me? That must mean you still care. I dream about you, too._

One more blink and another year is gone but you're still on the jet, still sitting across from her. This time, neither of you is having a worst day and you allow your eyes to linger over her an extra second, let yourself get caught up in the sweet sound of her voice, her subtle scent invading your nostrils even from across the table between you. You let yourself hope and, as soon as you do, your stomach gets tied up in knots waiting for her answer. You're praying for a yes, and terrified you'll get one at the same time. You know how rare second chances are and you already messed that up. What are you going to do if you get a third? When Emily smiles, you feel it in your whole body. "I'm gonna stay," she says.

"Oh thank god," you answer.

 _There's still hope. I'm not going to mess it up this time. I'll be honest with you. I promise._

Five seconds and eleven years pass all at once and you're here at the window, staring out into the dark, trying to decide which direction your life should take. All the things you've said, and all things you haven't, have led you here; ever since she first walked into the bullpen, your life, your heart you've been leading up to this moment. The case brought up all kinds of memories, the thing with Barnes hanging over your head, you know it all played into it but this moment has been inevitable since the beginning. And then Emily is here, just like you knew she would be. She always is.

"I know there are parts of this job that you really can't take home, so if you ever want someone to talk to, know that I am always here for you," she says.

You smile, knowing that it doesn't reach your eyes. "Thanks," you say aloud. Then: "Wait, Emily." She turns and looks at you, expectant, confirmation that you actually did speak the words aloud, and you hate that there's a part of you that's surprised. "Do you have a minute now? I'm ready to talk."


End file.
